


Scandalous

by hailbabel



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/F, Fingering, Flirting, Fluff, Harlots Week, Harlots Week 2020, Lesbian Sex, Smut, Teasing, Three and one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26507920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailbabel/pseuds/hailbabel
Summary: Three times Isabella and Nancy almost get caught being naughty, and one time they do.
Relationships: Nancy Birch/Isabella Fitzwilliam
Comments: 36
Kudos: 39
Collections: Harlots Week 2020





	1. The Park

“Mother?”

Isabella looked at Sophia, her big blue eyes full of questions. She was such a beautiful young woman, it made Isabella’s heart ache to know she had missed so much of her life.

“Yes, my love?”

Sophia looked down at her hands clasped before her as they strolled. It was a lovely London morning for a walk in the park. She hesitated a moment.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Isabella smiled softly at her daughter.

“Of course I have,” she said. “I love you with all of my heart.” This was not the answer that Sophia was looking for, of course, but Isabella wasn’t prepared to go into that conversation today.

Sophia pulled a skeptical look. The girl was keen, and knew when she was being played.

“I mean with a man! Or…” she trailed off. “Haven’t you ever wanted to be married?” Sophia had given up, for the time being, asking about her father, but that hadn’t stopped her from asking after every detail about Isabella’s life. For the most part, Isabella welcomed it. They had a lot of catching up to do, but there were certain topics she wasn’t ready to broach just yet.

But still. Her daughter certainly deserved an honest answer. Isabella thought of how best to proceed.

“I have been in love, yes. And I wanted to marry. Briefly, when I was a young girl.”

Sophia’s eyes lit up at this little sliver of insight.

“Were you being courted? Was he handsome? Oh, Mum, tell me all about it!”

Isabella found herself smiling again. Sophia’s enthusiasm about romance was boundless. Her previous foray into the real world had not dimmed her light in the least.

But she was likely to be disappointed by Isabella’s answer.

“Well, doesn’t every young girl wish to be married? When I was very little, I used to play in the gardens and have pretend weddings with my friend.”

Sophia got a far away look in her eye, perhaps imagining the scene. Or even imagining her own one-day wedding. She certainly wasn’t imagining that her mother’s pretend weddings were to her governess’ daughter. For now, she accepted this answer.

“Why did you never marry,” Sophia asked.

“I never found the right person.” True, but only half true.

Sophia seemed to have run out of questions and they lapsed into silence. They had made a habit of coming to the park in the mornings before the watery sun made it too warm and humid to be out. It was still cool and damp this morning and they weren’t the only ones out taking advantage of the mild weather. Several other people ambled about without any aim but to enjoy the quiet peace. This place was one of Isabella’s favorites in all of London.

A figure in blue stopped on the trail before them. It was a girl about Sophia’s age who was admiring a cluster of white blossoms. She straightened and noticed them, then smiled and waved.

“Mum? It’s Olivia. May I walk with her for a while?”

“Of course, dear.”

The two girls smiled as they went on their way, leaning in close to share some gossip or other. They strolled off with arms linked, and Isabella resisted the urge to call her back.

Before she could succumb to the urge, a familiar shape peeled away from a couple of very early rising harlots and strolled up to her.

“Fancy seeing you here, your ladyship.”

Isabella grinned.

“And you. Fortunate that we seem to run into each other here every Monday morning.” Isabella said. The first time they had encountered Nancy on their morning walk was genuinely by accident, but it had not taken the woman very long to surmise that this was a regular activity. She had since happened to meet them there, on accident, every Monday since.

Most times, she would make some small talk, perhaps slip Isabella a note or some token, and be on her way. That they actually would have some time alone was an unprecedented treat.

“Fortunate, eh? We ought use that fortune for something… pleasant.” Nancy waggled her eyebrows suggestively and Isabella stifled a giggle. Being with her made her feel like a girl much younger than her years.

Nancy linked her arm with Isabella’s and towed her discreetly off the path into another section of the park. They passed under an archway of cultivated roses and into a shady garden maze. The grey stone walls rose high enough that even the most pompous wig would still fall short of their height, and green, blossoming vines wound an ambling path among the stones. It was a quiet, cozy space, the kind that one might go to be alone with their thoughts, and Isabella relaxed into Nancy’s presence.

They strolled along like that in comfortable silence for a short time until it occurred to Isabella that she had not been able to kiss her paramour in a whole week since they had last seen each other. She pulled Nancy around a corner and into her embrace.

She brought her fingers up to trace the outline of Nancy’s face, the sharp line of her jaw, her bold cheekbones. Is this what true peace felt like?

“What’s got into you, my dear?” Nancy’s voice was soft and her lips quirked into half a smile. She must have been used to Isabella’s dramatic affections by now.

“I have missed you,” Isabella said. She kept her voice low and quiet, even though she felt like they were the only two people in the world.

“Oh, you know I’ll never go very far away. I’ll keep coming back. Like the pox!”

The two of them laughed together and Isabella leaned in to press a kiss to Nancy’s hard mouth. She was warm and smelled like pipe smoke, cloves, and just a hint of coffee. Emboldened by their hidden little corner, she pulled Nancy closer. The woman snaked her arms around Isabella’s waist, and they sunk together into a warm, deep kiss. Isabella could feel the stone against her back as Nancy pressed forward, her hands wandering over Isabella’s waist. 

Isabella’s world melted under the warmth of Nancy’s hands. She knew, distantly, that they were not as alone as they felt. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could still hear soft, distant chatter, rustling leaves, footsteps on cobbles.

Nancy nipped at Isabella’s bottom lip gently and a thrill prickled up her spine. Isabella whimpered softly and pulled Nancy close against her. She let her eyes slipped closed. She was so content and warm.

“--sure she’s not telling me everything.”

Isabella jerked away from the garden wall.

Sophia!

She inhaled to shout, or exclaim, or make excuses for her current entanglement. Thankfully, Nancy pressed a finger to her lips, one arm tight around her waist.

Nancy hushed her silently, her eyes wide with surprise.

Isabella’s heart pounded as she tried to understand why she could hear her daughter’s voice so clearly. The two of them stood still as stones as they heard a pair of footsteps on the other side of the wall.

“Did you hear something move?” That was Sophia’s voice for certain.

“The wind, perhaps,” her friend Olivia responded. “Or a couple of delinquents canoodling in the park. Anyway, are you sure you’re not making a big deal over nothing?”

“I’m certain, Olivia--”

Isabella’s skin prickled, every inch alive with electricity as her mind raced to find a way to escape.

But Nancy held her firm.

Soon, the footsteps faded and the sound of Sophia’s voice went with it.

Nancy gestured for her to wait there. She ducked around a corner and poked her head out into the path.

When she returned with the all clear, Isabella found herself giggling again. It was a bubbly sort of sound that she had no control over.

“Lady Isabella,” Nancy said with mock scandal. “Hiding out in dark corners with harlots. What’s got into you, hm?”

Isabella took Nancy by the hand and two of them tried to casually return to the park proper. She hadn’t any idea what mischievous spirit had struck her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Nancy Birch. Clearly nothing’s got into me. But perhaps you’ll be luckier next time.”

Isabella turned to look at Nancy under the pretense of taking in the scenery. The half stunned, half impressed look on her companion’s face was extremely satisfying.


	2. A Token

The giddy feeling that being with Nancy gave her carried Isabella through the rest of the day. In fact, she was unaware that she had been staring off at nothing for a very long time at dinner until Sophia waved a hand in front of her face.

“Mother? Are you well?”

Isabella came back to the present with a twinge of disappointment. She was far away from the dimly lit dining room, wondering what Nancy was doing at Greek St. She smiled softly, doing her best to pretend otherwise.

“Of course, love. Why do you ask?”

“You haven’t touched your plate in the last ten minutes.”

“I’m not terribly hungry,” she said lightly, hoping it sounded natural. She had hardly nibbled the lovely roast and vegetables that had been prepared that evening, while Sophia herself was almost finished. Instead, Isabella sipped her wine and tried to decide if she could manage to slip out of the house tonight without being noticed.

She wasn’t sure what had gotten into Sophia, but she felt as though the girl had been watching her very closely since their outing to the park. No, it just wouldn’t do. She couldn’t come up with a good reason she’d need to leave the house so late…

One of the maids poked her head into the room.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but this arrived for you just now.” She handed Isabella a small folded note with one torn edge.

Isabella thanked the woman, who disappeared back into the hallway, and opened the note. It was a page torn out of a book, as she suspected. Inside was a single, sleek, black feather and a printed passage:

_“Sing me no songs of daylight,_

_For the sun is the enemy of lovers,_

_Sing instead of shadows and darkness,_

_And memories of midnight.”_

Beneath it was a written message in sharp, slanting script.

_“Not big on poetry, but I think you’ll recognize The Poetess. Thought of you and wished for our midnight mischief.”_

_-N_

  
  


Isabella smiled to herself and twirled the feather between two fingers. She did indeed recognize Sappho, having spent many secret hours studying her poetry. She would have to go to Nancy and ask her to recite this. What a treat to hear her whisper such things in the dark.

“Who is it from?”

Sophia’s clear voice sliced through Isabella’s fantasizing like winter gales through wool coats.

“It’s not important, dear.”

Sophia frowned, but recovered quickly.

“Oh! Is it a love note?” She perked up and Isabella was taken aback.

“Of course it’s not--”

“It _is!_ Oh, Mum! Are you being courted?” Sophia lost all interest in the rest of her dinner and leaned over in her seat to try and read it.

“Who is N?”

“Never you mind!” Isabella folded the note quickly and tucked it and the feather in a pocket before Sophia could get any more bright ideas.

“And why did he send you a feather?”

“I think that’s enough questions for one day,” Isabella said hastily. “Isn’t it getting late?”

“No!” Sophia exclaimed. Isabella got up from the table, but Sophia got up to follow her. “It’s hardly eight in the evening,” Sophia said, pursuing her around the table and out of the room.

“Yes, and I have that early meeting with the banker. Dear, you know he’s such a horrible man, I can’t possibly be anything less than well-rested if I have to see him first thing.”

“Is it that handsome judge who came around after my uncle died? Or that muscled boxer gentleman?” Sophia continued to dog her through the house. Boxer gentleman? Was she talking about Lively? Isabella made a mental note to watch her more closely from now on.

“Nosey child, go to bed!” Isabella took the stairs two at a time and shouted down them to Sophia.

“I wouldn’t judge you!” Sophia hung over the banister as shouted up to Isabella.

“I love you, good night!”

When she was safely behind her bedroom door, Isabella took the note from her pocket and read it again. And again and again until she could almost hear it, her Nancy whispering in her ear.


	3. The Playhouse

Isabella’s meeting with her banker the next morning went about as well as she had expected. Which was to say, horribly. Mr. Copper had worked with her family since her father was alive, and had assisted Harcourt (insomuch as Harcourt would listen) with the finances once the running of the house had passed to him. While he would never dare to say that he didn’t think Isabella knew what she was doing, he was forever contradicting her and questioning her decisions. Neither Harcourt nor her father would ever have suffered such an insult, but she found she had to fight Mr. Copper every step of the way.

She always got her way in the end, but she couldn’t help but think that if she had been born a man their meeting would have been much shorter. By the time it was over, she was very glad to see the man go.

“Shall I see you out, Mr. Copper?” Isabella asked between gritted teeth, doing her best to affect a polite tone.

“No need, your ladyship. I believe I know where the door is.” The portly man gave a barely acceptable bow, and turned crisply to leave. Isabella waited until the clap of his heels faded and she could hear the front door shut behind him.

She sneered at the doorway through which he left the study, and snapped the door shut with more force than the good banker would have found appropriate for a woman. No doubt a man like that only approved of women that had as much vigor as gruel. The bang was quite satisfying to her ears, but the joy of it was momentary.

Isabella sank down into a chair with a distinct woosh of fabric, and silently cursed the hoops and pads of her skirts. There was a time and place where the trappings of her finery gave her not only beauty, but strength of presence, even a certain imperiousness. They didn’t however, do much for her when she was trying to be intimidating to a man who thought he knew everything a woman was good for.

She looked up at the towering shelves of dusty books. Her father had started this collection. It held texts on business and accounting, geography and trade, foreign cultures and sciences. She had added a few herself. When father was alive, she simply snuck them in among the other tomes. He didn’t approve of her interest in business and trade. He always insisted that she would be taken care of by a husband, but he was too busy to notice when a few books quietly appeared among his collection.

There was something imposing and masculine about the tall, heavy wooden shelves, and the books standing in straight lines. There was nothing feminine about the framed maps on the walls, or the solid wooden desk. And that, perhaps, was why she insisted so vehemently on being here.

There was a soft knock at the door and Sophia poked around it.

“Was that Mr. Copper leaving, then? He must have been in a mood, I could hear that from upstairs.”

Isabella gave a sideways smile.

“No, dear. That was actually me. But yes, he is gone,” she said. Then, under her breath, “Thank the heavens.”

“He’s an unpleasant man,” Sophia said. “Why is he so difficult?”

“He’s a man,” Isabella said with distaste. She found it amusing for all of a second before she decided that was perhaps too honest.

Sophia grinned. She pulled a chair next to Isabella’s and leaned against her.

“What a prick,” she said.

Isabella couldn’t decide whether to scold her or agree. So she tipped her head back and cackled.

“Sophia!” Isabella nudged her daughter playfully, who was laughing at her own coarseness. “I know I never taught you to say such things.”

“No, I heard it from that woman who comes around sometimes. Nancy.” Sophia picked at a thread on her bodice. “She’s an interesting sort.”

Isabella made a noise of agreement. Sophia was familiar with Nancy, but only in passing. The two were rarely in the same space for very long. But surely she was bound to notice some things, no matter how much Isabella tried to keep their interactions private. She wondered if Sophia had any opinions on that, but wasn’t sure where to begin to broach the subject.

She looked at her daughter and tried to imagine her and Nancy sitting together and talking. The two of them were just so different that she couldn’t see it.

“What do you say we go out tonight? Let’s go see a play, hm? There has to be something good on.”

Sophia hopped up at the suggestion. “Will you help me pick out a dress?”

“Of course, love.”

Sophia’s face lit up at that and she grabbed Isabella by the arm and towed her from the room.

\---

Isabella didn’t care so much what play was to be performed tonight at the playhouse, only that getting ready and coming out that night made her feel very far away from the incident this morning with her banker. And Sophia seemed to be in extra high spirits after changing in and out of outfit after outfit and letting Isabella do her hair. Isabella felt a bit of pride looking at her daughter.

Sophia’s blond hair had been brushed to a golden sheen and done up in an elegant, piled-high style, with one spooling lock curling down her neck. Her dress was white and gold, and ivory hair pins decorated her curls. She sat up straight in the carriage with a careful poise, somewhat undercut by her barely suppressed excitement. She had her face nearly against the window as they approached the playhouse by carriage. The closer they drew, the more people they passed dressed and powdered and coifed in the latest fashion. Sophia nearly sparkled with awe at them all.

When the carriage stopped, Sophia hopped out and Isabella descended with practiced grace. Whatever was playing tonight must have been popular. It had drawn a significant crowd and Isabella had to navigate it carefully in her wide skirts. When they entered the playhouse, moving was even more difficult.

Sophia bounced with anticipation.

“Why don’t you go ahead to our seats, love?”

Sophia nodded and took off at a barely restrained trot, picking her way easily through the pompous high wigs and ladies attempting to glide with the massive circumferences of their dresses. Isabella watched her go with some anxiety. It still troubled her to let her daughter out of her sight.

Fortunately, she saw something that distracted her. A very lucky minor lord whose name she couldn’t recall was being escorted by not one, but two women in garishly bright dresses, one woman on each arm. Trailing just behind was a dark, slim figure she recognized instantly.

Isabella managed to catch up to the little group. With everyone packed so close, no one looked twice at her. She pressed close to Nancy.

“Funny how our worlds keep intersecting,” Isabella said quietly, casually glancing at Nancy and then away, as though observing the other patrons.

Nancy turned slightly and grinned.

“You and I intersect often,” she said. “And vigorously.”

Isabella made a little “hmm” of satisfaction.

“Indeed, it is one of my favorite past-times,” she said. She pressed a little closer, moving along with the crowd. She let her hand brush Nancy’s and crooked her little finger to entwine it with hers for a moment. This little gesture, this small thing done in defiance right out in the open made her chest feel light.

They split from most of the crowd up a flight of stairs.

“That so, your ladyship?” Nancy freed her hand and trailed her fingers in a circle in Isabella’s palm. It tickled terribly. “Maybe you’ll let me into that private box of yours and I can entertain you further.”

“You’ve been in my box plenty. Aren’t you tired of it yet?” They turned down a dim hallway at the top of the stairs. The lord and his two ladies went one way to find their private seats, and Isabella and Nancy went the other, finally alone. They slowed, walking two abreast, taking advantage of the momentary privacy.

“Dunno that I could ever get tired of something so fine.” Nancy looked around casually, but they were alone. She reached a hand behind Isabella to grab a handful of her skirts and began to lift them up, seeking the warmth of her body beneath.

They shouldn’t be doing this. Not out in public like this. It was wrong in so many ways, but when her hand found the back of Isabella’s thigh Isabella bit her lip and slowed to a stop.

Nancy’s hand wandered upwards, trailing goosebumps as it went.

“Are those the new leather gloves I bought you?” She said, attempting a casual tone.

“Mhmm. Smooth as butter.”

“I can tell,” Isabella said with a smirk. The leather of her glove was warm from the heat of Nancy’s skin. Her body was wedged against Isabella’s side as her hand trailed upward to cup her--

A figure came up the stairs at the opposite end of the hall, a dimly lit silhouette, and Isabella’’s heart pounded in her throat.

Nancy’s touch evaporated as she smoothly tugged Isabella’s dress back down and strode ahead, passing Isabella and leaving her with a wink.

The figure turned one way, and then the other, facing Isabella at the end of the hall. “Mum?” It was Sophia. “Mum, I couldn’t remember which one was ours.”

Isabella returned to herself with as much grace as she could muster.

“Did you get lost again? We’re here, at the end closer to the stage.”

She led Sophia to their seats and shut the curtain behind them. The play was one that Isabella had seen before. It was just as well, she wasn’t paying an ounce of attention. Across the theater she could see another box on the same level. In it were a lord and two women in brightly coloured dresses. Every now and again, a dark figure would peek in to check on the girls. And once, when no one else was looking, Nancy looked up. She caught Isabella’s eye and winked before disappearing behind the curtain again.


	4. Strummed

Isabella frowned into the silvered looking glass. It wasn’t that she didn’t like what she saw. Her dark hair was pulled into a casually elegant, curling, fashionable style. What was not pulled up was left to sweep over one shoulder and pool at her bosom. It wasn’t too overdone, but still appropriate for receiving important guests. She wore a three-tiered necklace of pearls, with complimenting rings of opals and silver. Her dress was a pale, subdued lavender that was far less grand than her usual style, but the fine materials made it clear that this was an outfit fit for a marchioness, and worth far more than a modest salary could bear.

No, Isabella liked what she saw, though her vanity would creep in every now and again to trouble her with doubts. She was well-acquainted with the concept of her own aging. In fact, she found that her more mature looks could be used to her advantage. They leant a sort of imposing kind of air that, coupled with her style of dress and the subtly lavish jewellery gave her an imperious bearing that she took full advantage of. 

Isabella was frowning because of the guest she was expecting to receive that day. Lord Hargrove was a minor lord at best. He had inherited the title from his father, who received it from his father in turn. While Hargrove the Elder had been a shrewd businessman who built his fortune cultivating orchards and farmland he bought from his father, his son and subsequently his grandson had squandered that wealth on one failed business venture after another. Two generations of failure left the current Hargrove with little more than the veneer of a fortune, and a title worth a dream and a song.

This had not stopped him from hounding every member of the nobility in search of investors willing to buy into his schemes. Indeed, the first time Isabella had met the man, he was trying to marry his way into the family by convincing Harcourt (shortly after their father had passed) to let him marry Isabella herself. This has been a doomed proposition for many reasons, not least of all because even Harcourt, who had as much business sense as God gave a rock, knew better than to ally himself with Hargrove.

It seemed Lord Hargrove had a bit of a pattern, however. As soon as news of Harcourts’ death became common knowledge, Isabella began receiving correspondence from him with his “condolences” for her loss. He said how sorry he was (which she doubted) and how close he and Harcourt had been (which they weren’t) and how great a loss it was for England (which it wasn’t). Isabella could have stomached all of that, however, if it weren’t for his insistence that he see her in person to “more properly convey his condolences”.

Isabella needed no condolences, least of all from someone she knew to be angling for his own benefit. From what she could gather, these days he was looking to move his business to America where he could take advantage of the slave labour, of which Isabella wanted no part. She had wondered briefly whether it was worth it to ask him about this to his face, if for no other reason than to watch him squirm as he tried to toe around the issue.

What she really wanted, of course, was to tell him to sod it. And the only reason she didn’t was that propriety demanded she receive him. If she wasn’t seen to be observing at least the bare minimum amount of grief, the nobility would begin to suspect that Harcourt hadn’t actually been “mugged” and left for dead. No, it wouldn’t do. She would see him, but only to keep up appearances. Whatever he had to say, she would listen politely, decline any offers, and see him out the door at the first available opportunity.

Isabella nodded to her reflection in the mirror and finally exited the bedroom to head downstairs.

On her way down, she heard a knock at the door. It was still quite early for Hargrove to be arriving, but she couldn’t see who it was. She did, however, hear the now familiar clap of bootheels in a stride she well recognized. Isabella stopped on the last stair and smiled to herself, amused at how much one could learn about a person when all one's thoughts bent toward them.

Nancy Birch appeared in the foyer and smiled brightly. It was a smile, she liked to think, was reserved only for her or for the handful of peaceful hours at Greek Street when there were no culls to attend, and everyone sat happily around the kitchen table sharing a bottle of spirits.

“Your ladyship,” Nancy said with a certain… _something_. Isabella wasn’t sure exactly what it was she did, but Nancy always somehow twisted that word in her mouth and gave it a spin as it came out. It was more than just a greeting. It was playful, even teasing. And she had a bouncy kind of swagger today that made Isabella realize just how much she adored this woman.

“Nancy,” Isabella said warmly. “To what do I owe this _very_ pleasant surprise?”

Nancy took one of Isabella’s hands in both of her own and pressed a kiss to her palm.

“Kiss me proper,” Isabella said, though she dearly loved Nancy’s chivalry. “There’s no one else here just now.” She tilted her head and Nancy rocked up on her toes to meet her lips.

It should have only been a “hello” kiss, but the way she missed Nancy gave her such an ache. They had merely brushed each other's presence so many times this week, and instead of being content with that she had felt herself grow more needful. She sank into the warmth of that kiss, and Nancy slipped an arm around her. It landed low around her hips and suddenly Isabella felt herself lifted off the stair and spun around in a circle.

She laughed a bright and genuine laugh as Nancy grinned and set her down on the floor.

“You’re in high spirits today,” Isabella said brightly.

“I have been craving you all week,” Nancy said, still pressed close. Mercy, she was warm, and the sound of her voice vibrated against Isabella’s ear.

“Like a piece of candy?”

“Like a dying man craves a wet cunt!” They both burst into more laughter, one leaning into the other, and suddenly their mirth turned to something tender. Nancy smelled like cloves and wood smoke, and Isabella signed contentedly.

“Please tell me you don’t have anything pressing to do today,” Nancy said with a pleading look.

“I’m awaiting a guest, but you’ve beat him here,” Isabella said. “A Lord Hargrove whom I expect is going to try and make me some kind of business proposition.”

Nancy frowned and chewed her lip for a moment. She looked around conspiratorially before grabbing Isabella by the wrist and towing her from the foyer. They went down the hall, turned the corner, and Nancy pulled her back into her embrace. It was darker here, down this side hall, lit dimly by a sconce from the main passage.

“Are you stealing me away?”

“Only for a moment,” Nancy said before pulling her into another kiss, this time parting Isabella’s lips for a deeper taste. Isabella hadn’t expected her day to take such a pleasant turn and found it criminally easy to forget about Lord Hargrove and his machinations in favor of this: Nancy’s mouth and hands, her warm body, and her enveloping scent. Isabella slipped her fingers into Nancy’s hair and under her coat, pulling the woman closer to her. As she did so, she found herself pressed back against the wall and welcomed the resistance as the space between them shrank to nothing.

Nancy angled her hips, wedging herself between Isabella’s legs. In turn Isabella crooked one knee, sliding it upwards against Nancy, allowing her better access.

“Whatever proposition Lord Hardon has for you, I bet I can beat it.”

Isabella said softly, “Does it have anything to do with your hand currently going up my leg?”

“Might,” Nancy said with a grin.

“Nancy Birch, this is utterly inappropriate,” Isabella said. “Positively--! Sinful!” Her breath hitched as Nancy pinched the soft spot behind her knee.

Nancy paid her no mind and pressed a few light kisses across the swell of her breasts, following a trail of freckles she often favoured. She scraped her teeth gently over Isabella’s collarbone, causing Isabella to sigh.

“Don’t,” she said, even as she arched into that feeling. “Don’t leave a mark.” She was trying so very hard to maintain her composure, but how could she? Her eyes had slipped closed and her body was not following her will. Instead, she was leaning into every wandering touch, spellbound to those hands that were so good at finding the chinks in her self-control and making her weak. 

Nancy made a neutral noise that rumbled against Isabella’s throat where she was currently kissing, up and up. Nancy took Isabella’s earlobe between her teeth and tugged.

“Don’t want anyone to know you’re a naughty moll trying to get strummed when she’s got important folk arriving to her home?”

Isabella opened her mouth to reply, but what came out was a luscious sigh as Nancy caressed her bare thigh and gently, insistently, pressed her thighs apart. Isabella let her, steadying herself with handfuls of Nancy’s clothes, rolling her hips forward, seeking--there, that touch. Nancy’s thumb slid over her teasingly.

“You are slick with wanting me,” Nancy hissed into her ear.

“I am no such thing,” Isabella whispered back, even as she tugged at Nancy, needing more of that touch. “I am chaste and pure and--”

“And _dripping_ \--”

“Mother!” That sharp sound sent a spike of panic through Isabella. Her warm, happy fantasy withered and she was overcome with an ugly, prickling shame. It was like having a terrible fever, only it made her want to disappear. She had never heard Sophia hiss like that before.

Nancy yanked her hand back, and Isabella tried to tug her skirts back into place, but it was far too late. Sophia stood at the end of the passage, red-faced and looking mortified.

“When you’ve quite finished, Lord Hargrove is here!” Sophia turned on her heel and marched away before Isabella could make any excuses, though she couldn’t fathom what lie she could tell that would cover this up.

She looked at Nancy, completely lost for words, and fixed to the spot with embarrassment. Isabella didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But if given the choice, she would have died on the spot.

“Mother of Cunt,” Nancy swore finally. “Is that girl everywhere?!”


	5. Unraveled

Isabella’s first thought was to rush after her daughter and make things right. She didn’t know how she was going to do it, only that she must.

But Nancy’s hands held her fast.

“Breathe,” Nancy said. Her voice was low and her eyes were big with worry. She’d joked about their entanglement earlier, but Isabella hadn’t seen the humor in it. No, her heart was racing after Sophia. “I’m not letting you go ‘til you take a breath.”

Isabella looked at her fiercely, before she finally understood. She breathed in and then out. She had been so worried about what had happened, had bent all her thoughts toward making it right, that she hadn’t even a single one left to herself to remember to breathe.

“There,” Nancy said. She nodded, but didn’t let go of Isabella just yet. “You’ve got a guest to attend to. Your other business can come afterwards.”

“But Sophia--”

“She’ll mind her manners if you do. It’s your house, you set the tone.”

“Oh, Nance, I didn’t want this to happen.”

Nancy bit her lip hard and her eyes dropped. Something uncomfortable flitted across her features and was gone. She looked unlike herself for a moment, but just a moment. When her eyes came back up, she was Nancy again.

“You can’t let your feelings show,” she said finally. “That man wants something from you, and you don’t want to give it.”

Isabella took another deep breath and straightened. She realized she had been cowering inward towards Nancy, afraid of what had happened, afraid of not knowing how she would fix it. She smoothed her skirts and rearranged herself. Nancy reached up and smoothed a curl of her hair.

“I’ll come to you tonight. Everything’s gonna turn out,” she said. And Isabella could hear it was true, though she didn’t know how.

When Isabella arrived in the parlour where her guest--multiple guests, she noted--was waiting, she was herself again. At least on the outside. She smiled mildly and allowed Lord Hargrove to kiss her hand. She displayed a polite interest in his son, a Holland Hargrove, who he had brought with him. She didn’t flinch at the unwanted contact, or so much as raise an eyebrow at the young man whom she wasn’t expecting. Her voice was cool and smooth, and her bearing tall and composed.

Even while her insides shook. On top of having exposed her relationship with Nancy to Sophia in absolutely the wrong way, something was off about this meeting.

Both Lord and son shared the same gangly, reedy look, blonde hair, and dark eyes. The boy was slightly taller than his father, but not by very much. Truly, they looked like twins cast from the same mold. If they had been the same age, Isabella guessed they would have been practically identical. The biggest difference was that while Holland looked uncomfortable and slightly sullen, his father Andrew looked like a nervous mess. He kept worrying the buttons of his coat, and his smile often faltered into a nervous chuckle as he looked back and forth from Isabella to Sophia.

Sophia had, just as Nancy said, minded herself and said not a word about what happened or made any indication that anything was amiss. She was quite formal, and even icy, but at least she wasn’t making a scene. It did bother Isabella, however, that one Hargrove kept looking at her daughter nervously, and the other couldn’t look at her at all.

She was, as every day, impeccably dressed and her golden-blonde hair arranged into an elaborately curled style. She was the picture of high society, really. Any man or woman would--

Something inside Isabella slid into place like a key grinding in a lock.

“You know,” Lord Hargrove said, “I’ve found that often the best cure for such hurts is new and positive prospects.”

Isabella looked from her daughter to Holland, to Lord Hargrove and she finally understood what the man was really here for. Her face grew hot again, but this time it was anger making her flush, and she couldn’t believe that snake of a man would try this same gambit again.

“What prospects might those be, sir?” Sophia asked politely when Isabella didn’t respond to his bait.

Lord Hargrove looked between them and tried on what looked like it was supposed to be a winning smile. His nervous manner made it a shaky thing at best.

“Well, dear, a union,” he said. “That is to say, a marriage. Something to celebrate, you know.”

Sophia furrowed her brow. She didn’t understand. But Isabella did, and she pushed her feelings aside. She had to control the situation, there would be time for emotion later.

“Are you suggesting, sir, that I sell my daughter to you?” Isabella felt a familiar coldness come over her. It was the same coldness she had employed since she was fourteen or so to deal with her brother. She used it on his friends, too, when she was forced to interact with them. When she saw how they would kowtow to such a monsterous man and when the thought baffled and enraged her. It had become useful for dealing with others as well, men and women such as Andrew Hargrove who were only ever trying to manipulate situations to their own advantage. It made it so that she could speak and think and act within the confines of society when everything in her wanted to scream.

“Are you suggesting that I should turn her life upside down in the space of a single afternoon? What possesses you to think that this was even remotely appropriate?”

Lord Hargrove looked aghast for a moment, but he recovered quickly and plugged on.

"Madam! What is more uplifting than a wedding? And my Holland is a fine young man, he would make a faithful and doting husband."

"Indeed, as you would have made me when I was a girl who had just lost her father and you attempted to purchase me. No, Lord Hargrove, I don't think this is a good match. And I think you should leave my home. Now."

Lord Hargrove worked his jaw in silence as he searched for a reply. He looked ridiculous, like a fish drowning out of water.

“Then I suppose this means good day, madam.”

He and his son left in cold, stunned silence, but the real surprise was Sophia.

She curtsied politely to the Lord and his son, but as soon as they were gone, she turned her gaze to Isabella, who had never seen her daughter look so fierce. Her gaze was hard and her expression sharp. With her pale face and hair, she looked like she could have been carved of ice.

Her thin chest heaved and she clenched her teeth together, looking as though she were fighting against the words she wanted to say. Instead, she heaved a huge sigh and turned on her heels to exit the room.

Isabella’s own cold calm shattered at seeing her own daughter, her one and only daughter, turn away from her so angrily.

“Sophia! Please, I’m sorry about what happened earlier. That’s not how I wanted you to find out!”

Sophia stopped abruptly, her heels clacking on the marble floor. She turned around slowly, and when she did, her eyes were alight with anger.

“It’s fine, _Mother_ ,” she said in a tone that clearly communicated that it was not fine. “After all, it’s all about what you want.”

Isabella was aghast. She didn’t understand where this was coming from.

“What are you talking about?”

“You wanted to keep it a secret. Like you want to keep my father a secret. Like you wanted to keep _me_ a secret. You didn’t even _ask_ me how I felt about marrying that man.”

“You couldn’t possibly want to marry someone you haven’t met before.”

“I have met him!”

Isabella blinked. “When?”

Sophia rolled her eyes.

“When I was… gone.”

“You never mentioned him.”

“You never mentioned her.” Isabella didn’t have a reply to that. But Sophia only looked exasperated. “I don’t even know if I want to talk about it. Can I go now?”

“O-of course.”

The words were hardly out of her mouth before Sophia turned back around and left the room, leaving Isabella feeling hollow and frustrated.

\--

Sophia spent the better part of the day moping around the house, saying little unless it was absolutely necessary. Isabella held out until dinner, when Sophia requested to have her meal in her room. Exhausted of trying to maintain the peace, Isabella picked at her meal and retired to her own room early.

Shutting the door behind her was an instant relief. The room was cool and dark and quiet, and blissfully free of moping teenagers.

There was a soft knock at the door. Her most trusted, longest employed maid Maryanne appeared to help her undress. Isabella was feeling particularly like not being touched, and so Maryanne only removed her frock and stomacher, and took them to be put away with the rest of her wardrobe. It had been an exhausting day and, while most days she could control her discomfort at being undressed by another, her patience was thin and she couldn’t muster the energy for it tonight. Thankfully, Maryanne had been with her through worse. She had been with her when she was a teenager herself and hadn’t allowed anyone at all to touch her.

Isabella stopped Maryanne on her way out with a touch on the shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Of course, ma’am.”

As the door shut behind her, Isabella considered she should give that woman a raise.

Having the frock off removed a large weight from her, both literally and figuratively. She would never deny that she had a taste for fine clothing, but there was something very satisfying about getting to take it all off. She tugged at the ties of her pocket bags, and then her hip pad, and petticoat, discarding them on a sideboard to be collected in the morning. With these off, she felt better, less encumbered. She sat at the vanity and began to work on her hair, unpinning her many curls and letting them fall around her face in large ringlets. She worked her fingers through them until they settled into waves and began to work a brush through them.

There was another knock at the door.

“Bell?”

Isabella recognized Nancy’s voice.

“Come in,” she called softly. In the mirror, she watched the door open and Nancy appear in the doorway. She opened her mouth to speak, and stopped. Isabella didn’t feel shy at all about being this way in front of Nancy, a woman who had kissed and touched every part of her, but it was very satisfying to see her standing there, hand still on the latch, very decidedly stunned.

“Nancy,” Isabella said gently, turning around so Nancy could see all of her. She watched her eyes go from her face, to her chest, to her legs. “I’m half dressed, close the door.”

She stood there for a moment more, brain working furiously behind her eyes. She actually took a step back before she remembered she could be in the room and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

“O-oh. I. Um.”

Isabella smiled to herself, sweeping her mostly-brushed hair over one shoulder to start on the other side.

“I’ll never get tired of unraveling you,” Isabella said, crossing one leg over the other and relishing the way Nancy’s eyes followed helplessly.

Nancy cleared her throat and crossed the room. She leaned down and kissed the top of Isabella’s head. “Vexatious woman,” she said fondly. “So. How did your meeting with Lord Harddick go?”

“Lord Hargrove,” Isabella said, putting particular emphasis on the correct name, “wanted to marry his son to Sophia. It was mortifying. I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming.”

“Oh? And what did Sophia have to say about that?”

Isabella wrinkled her nose. “I… must have forgotten to ask,” she said.

Nancy gave a snort of laughter and leaned back against the vanity, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Bet she wasn’t too happy about that. Among other things.”

“Hm. She’s barely said ten words to me today.”

Nancy made a neutral noise, but didn’t elaborate. Instead, she made to inspect her fingernails, apparently forgetting that she was wearing gloves, and looking very much like she hoped Isabella wouldn’t question her further.

Isabella raised an eyebrow. “You have some thoughts about this?” she prompted.

“I have no thoughts on how you ought to raise your daughter,” she said, her tone falsely indifferent.

“Is that so?” Far from feeling annoyed, Isabella was actually a bit amused. She didn’t want to be thinking about that, anyway. No, she wanted to go back to that morning when everything had been good and right and warm. She wanted to go back to that moment just before they had been caught and pick up where they left off.

Isabella stood and turned her back to Nancy.

“Help me with my stays?” She could very well undo them herself, having done so since she was fourteen or so. It had been difficult to do at first, but now was less than nothing. But she wanted Nancy to look at her some more. She wanted to think about the way Nancy’s eyes would be going over her body now, lingering over her curves, imagining her in less and less clothing.

Nancy inhaled a breath the way she always did when Isabella was tempting her. It was as though she was trying to resist, like when they first started their courting. She had resisted then because she was afraid. Now she only did it to be vexing. It was a game to them, one they enjoyed thoroughly and often.

She undid the laces, easing them apart so that the stays became loose enough for Isabella to slip over her head. She took off her chemise, too, leaving her in nothing but her stockings and garters.

“Do you have any thoughts you’d like to share now?” Isabella kept her back to Nancy, but she could hear her quiet chuckle.

“You know how I feel about you in stockings.”

“And you know how I like for you to tell me.” Isabella put her hand out and Nancy took it so she could be led to the bed. Isabella guided Nancy to sit on the edge of the mattress and began to undress her as Nancy looked her over with hungry eyes.

“I think I am very lucky.”

Isabella pulled off her gloves first, and then pushed her coat off of her shoulders, sliding her hands over Nancy’s hard frame.

“Why is that?”

Isabella began to undo the buttons of her waistcoat. There was a time when doing this would have sent Nancy into a panic. When doing this made her think that Isabella was going to try and make her get naked. But they had been together so many times now, in so many different ways they knew where all the boundaries were. Isabella knew that Nancy, her invincible, cackling, sharp-tongued Nancy, couldn’t stand to be naked. Isabella slipped the waistcoat off and Nancy kicked off her boots, worry the furthest thing from her mind.

“Because ain’t a man alive can conceive what a dream you are.”

Isabella smiled and looked away. How was it that Nancy could still make her tingle just like that? It almost made her feel bad for the teasing she was about to do. She straddled Nancy’s lap on the bed, leaning down for a kiss. She parted her lips eagerly, inviting Nancy to do the same. She slid her hands down Nancy’s font, running lightly over her breasts, earning a deep groan in return.

She took Nancy’s hands and placed them on her thighs, urging her to touch her as she pleased.

Nancy didn’t need telling twice. Her rough touch slid over Isabella’s skin, going around to cup her backside where her nails could bite gently into her flesh. It gave Isabella’s goosebumps and almost made it difficult to part from her. Almost.

“Or what a nightmare,” she said, slipping out of Nancy’s grasp and moving over to lay on the bed, her body turned so that Nancy could see all of her.

Nancy twisted around, giving her a questioning look. When she went over to Isabella, trailing her fingertips over her thighs, Isabella playfully swatted the hand away.

“Tell me more,” Isabella said, a smirk tugging at her lips.

She didn’t often take the lead in their antics, but she enjoyed the feeling of power that it gave her when she did. No, usually she liked for Nancy to be in charge. She liked the way it felt to trust her so completely that she could give every inch of her body into Nancy’s hands and know that Nancy would make her feel good. That Nancy would fuck and ravage her in just the right way, right up to her limits and no more.

Nancy knew exactly how to do it, too. She loved to make Isabella _feel_. To make her sigh and moan and writhe. She wouldn’t let Isabella touch her, but she got her pleasure just the same. In a way, doing this was for Nancy as much as it was for Isabella. Touching herself, torturing herself so blissfully gave Nance a thrill that Isabella couldn’t quite understand, but she knew she wanted to keep doing it to her. She knew that by giving this to herself, she was giving it to Nancy as well.

“You are testing me, girl.”

Isabella ran her hands up the sides of her body and looked at Nancy. She made sure to catch her eyes, made sure she was looking as she cupped her own breasts and sighed. She kneaded them in her hands, watching as Nancy licked her lips, her mind turning furiously over the idea of touching Isabella herself.

Isabella rolled one nipple between thumb and forefinger and let her eyes slip closed. She imagined it was Nancy doing it to her and the fantasy gave her a thrill. She whimpered softly.

“Nancy, talk to me,” she said. She had meant it as a command, but her words came out breathy and pleading. She could feel Nancy move on the mattress and settle down next to her.

Her voice was low and her breath warm on Isabella’s ear as she said, “Sweet, pretty moll. What are you doing, hm? You trying to torture me?”

Isabella smiled. “Naturally. Aren’t you enjoying this?” She didn’t open her eyes, but she knew the face Nancy would make, how her mouth would twist into that sharp, wicked smirk. How her eyes would rake over Isabella’s body.

Nancy made a low noise in her chest. “I’d enjoy it more if I were inside you.”

Isabella smiled at the thought. With one hand still on her breast, teasing and circling the soft and pliant flesh, she reached down between her legs to rub gentle circles over her lips. Not too hard, just enough to feel the pleasant, blunt pressure spread over herself. She was beginning to feel warm and light, and a slight wetness coated her fingers.

Nancy continued, “Or if I took you in my mouth.” Her voice had turned down to a whisper. “If I kissed your gorgeous, pink cunt and sucked on you with your thighs wrapped around me.”

At this, Isabella pressed two fingers inside herself, lifting her hips from the mattress to take every inch inside.

Nancy swore softly as she watched. “Delicious, delicate, dirty Isabella. I know you can take more than that,” she taunted. “I’ve touched all inside you. I know how deep your cunny goes.”

At this taunting, Isabella pressed another finger inside and let them slip in and out, slowly still, letting the warmth build. She wanted to thrust, to buck her hips and fuck herself on her own fingers. But not as much as she wanted to watch Nancy wanting her.

“And you wish you could be inside of it right now.”

Nancy huffed.

“I wish I could push your legs apart and bite your sweet thighs, leave my mark on you.”

Thinking about the sweet, sharp pleasure of Nancy sucking on her inner thigh made Isabella tingle. She abandoned teasing her breast to brace herself, gripping the sheets with her now free hand. She moved her hips in steady circles, and teased her clit with her thumb. She was slick with desire now, and her fingers moved easily in and out of herself.

“Play your game all you like, Isabella. Your cunt belongs to me. I’ve claimed it with my mouth.”

Isabella thrust hard into herself, thinking of that mouth, of Nancy looking up at her from between her legs. She needed more.

“And when you’re done playing,” Nancy said, placing a kiss on Isabella’s shoulder. “I’m going to fuck you to pieces.”

Isabella’s hips bucked hard at the low growl of Nancy’s voice. The word “fuck” dropped so heavily from her lips and hit Isabella’s body like some kind of spell, a beckoning that resonated in her bones.

She finally opened her eyes. Nancy was there next to her, lying on her side, watching her with hungry eyes. Isabella leaned toward her. She wanted to kiss her, wanted to taste that snide mouth. She hovered in that space, her lips nearly brushing Nancy’s, making Nancy follow her mouth in the hopes of a kiss.

And then she pulled away.

Isabella got to her knees, pressing Nancy back into the bed, straddling her hips. Nancy reached up to grab her, but Isabella pinned her hands to the bed.

“Not yet,” she teased. She twined her fingers with Nancy’s and positioned herself so one of Nancy’s thighs was wedged between her legs.

“Fucking cocktease,” Nancy growled impatiently.

Isabella ground her hips downward, using Nancy’s thigh for the pressure she craved.

“Keep talking,” Isabella begged.

“Who taught you to be so insolent”, Nancy hissed, but she was losing her bite. Her brow was furrowed and she bit her bottom lip, watching Isabella ride her thigh, watching her sink deeper and deeper into passion. Isabella wanted to come so badly, she just needed _more_.

“I’m going to fuck you like you belong to me. Until the only name on your lips is mine.”

“Say it again, tell me I’m yours,” Isabella breathed, her pace growing faster, more desperate.

“You are mine, Isabella. You belong to me. Every inch of you, every tender piece.” Nancy was whispering now. Isabella had tucked herself against her body, her face hidden away in the crook of her neck as she whimpered and rocked, rising closer and closer, her body winding tight.

She was so close, _so close._ She couldn’t take it anymore.

“Touch me, Nancy.”

“Say please.”

“Please!”

Nancy obliged, slipping her fingers into Isabella, filling her up and giving her something hard to ride.

“Pretty little fuck puppet,” Nancy whispered tenderly.

“Say it to me. Just one more time.”

Nancy kissed Isabella’s shoulder, taking her time, making Isabella wait while she was right on the edge.

“Tell me!”

Nancy scraped her teeth patiently over that same spot, and Isabella shivered at the rough sensation.

“Nance,” Isabella begged again. “Nancy, I want you to say it.”

Her lips brushed over Isabella’s ear, and finally she relented.

“You’re mine,” she hissed, pressing her fingers hard and deep.

Isabella quivered and swore. She tried to keep up the rhythm, but her hips were stuttering, bucking against Nancy’s fingers as her release rippled outward in a warm pulse. Nancy stroked her when she couldn’t maintain a steady pace, bringing her over the edge and through to the other side until Isabella whispered for her to stop.

Isabella exhaled a little “hmph!” as she laid down next to Nancy, face to her pillow.

“Cheeky,” Nancy teased as she kissed the top of Isabella’s head again.

Isabella grinned. “See, you do have thoughts.”

Nancy snorted in response, remembering their earlier conversation.

“You should tell her.”

“She knows already, Nancy.” Isabella turned to her side and curled around Nancy. She was warm and inviting, and Isabella was suddenly so sleepy.

“Obviously. But you should still talk to her about it.” Nancy paused, and then said, “And maybe even about where she came from.”

She slipped an arm around Isabella, and Isabella was glad for the extra contact. It had been many years since that particular hell was forced upon her for the first time, but there was always the chance that something might wake those terrible feelings again. Having Nancy so close, and being wrapped up around her helped to keep it away.

Isabella paused for a long time.

“I don’t know that she’s ready.”

“Bell,” Nancy said with a firm but gentle insistence. “She’s been out into the world. She’s been married, and fuck knows what else. She’s ready, whether or not she wanted to be.”

Isabella buried her face against Nancy, squeezing her eyes shut. Her child, her one and only daughter, had gone and seen the underside of London accompanied by a loathsome, servile man who had just been pulling her along. Isabella never had the time or the courage to tell her all the things she should have known before she took that journey, and now there was no going back.

That her daughter had come home whole and alive was more than she had dared to hope for, and they had begun to try and go back to normal. In all that, how was she supposed to find an appropriate way to tell her?

When was the right moment to shatter her peace with that information?

And how was she to summon the strength for it?

“I don’t think I’m ready,” Isabella whispered, her voice shaking with the truth of it. Her emotions were a growing knot in her throat, and her eyes stung with the threat of tears.

Nancy turned and wrapped both of her arms around Isabella who curled against her further. She smelled like cloves and smoke, neither of which Isabella had ever thought of as comforting before Nancy. Now, however, the smell of her was filling Isabella’s head. It was spicy and sweet, warm and sharp, like Nancy herself. Intimidating and inviting at the same time, both gruff and gentle. Her hard embrace was stilling, and Isabella found that, even though she was afraid of facing the reality that she would have to tell Sophia about her past, she didn’t feel like crying anymore.

Nancy stroked her hair and Isabella nuzzled upward, surfacing from the deep embrace.

“I don’t think I can tell her everything.”

Nancy continued to stroke her hair, her fingertips massaging Isabella’s scalp. She didn’t make any comment.

“You don’t agree?”

Nancy brushed her lips over Isabella’s forehead.

“I clearly have to tell her _something_ ,” Isabella said, more to herself now than to Nancy. “But if I tell her who her father is,” she reasoned, “it will only hurt her. Nancy, it will break her. No good at all will come of it.”

Isabella wanted to tug at her fingers as she went back and forth over the problem, circling closer and closer to the answer she didn’t want to acknowledge. Wringing her hands this way was a habit she’d developed as a girl, and the urge never really went away. But Nancy was still holding her tight and her hands were tucked between the two of them. She gave up on it, and worried her bottom lip with her teeth instead.

“If I tell her… what happened to me, and who did it,” Isabella said slowly. “If I tell her all of that, will it be for her, or for me?”

Isabella looked up at Nancy, who had relaxed her grip but was still stroking her gently.

“It is my deepest secret. She will never trust me again if I do not tell her. But if I tell her who her father is, it will break her.”

Nancy made a neutral noise.

“So that’s it, then? I have to tell her what happened, but I can’t tell her who her father is.”

Isabella paused and frowned, rolling the idea over and over in her mind.

“If I don’t tell her, she still won’t trust me. Do you think I should just tell her everything? I’m so tired of keeping this secret, Nance.”

The implications of that made her insides shake. It was true. She had to tell Sophia. She had to tell her everything. About Nancy, about Harcourt, about what happened to her when she was a young girl and how it had followed her into her adulthood. How she let it control her life. And how she didn’t want it to control Sophia’s life. And how that fear had tainted their relationship from the start.

Isabella wriggled in Nancy’s embrace, extracting her arms which had started to prickle with pins and needles.

“You’re right. I need to tell her everything.”

“She’s stronger than you give her credit for,” Nancy said finally as they rearranged themselves on the bed. They fitted themselves together, Isabella’s head on Nancy’s chest and an arm over her middle. She liked when they slept this way, because she could hear Nancy’s rhythmic breathing as they drifted off to sleep. Isabella knew what Nancy said was true. She was often right, even when the right course was a difficult one.

“I know,” Isabella said softly.

“And so are you.”


End file.
